Earlier today I found myself googling ‘why do I feel so anxious about child starting school.’
And then I thought. I’m a blogger. I can answer this one, right?
Well, no, as it turns out.
But I can write it all down and you can answer me. Like an agony aunt. Who empathises. Ideally, one who looks and sounds a bit like Mrs Doubtfire.
Unless you’re one of those mean, ‘knock some sense into you’ types, ‘JUST GET OVER IT.’ In which case, go ahead. I can take it.
I think it would sound something like this.
Dear lovely, empathetic Agony Aunt,
My four year old’s just started school. And it’s left me feeling a bit all over the place. Surprisingly so. I thought I was a hard mother of the Gina Ford variety. Not so. They’re going to kick me out at this rate. I can’t lose my membership, I can’t.
Last week’s anxiety was all about the cornflakes. Well you’ll be pleased to know we’ve sorted that one. We’ve moved onto porridge. Less chewing and sticks to the spoon, you see, so a time saver all round. We’ve got a new personal best in fact.
No, this week, it’s all about the work-school-nursery balance. I think. Oh I don’t know, maybe it’s not about that at all.
Because despite doing a school drop off, oyster top-up AND catching a train in eight minutes (the walk alone is seven minutes) I’m feeling out of sorts. Overwhelmed. Tired. Anxious. A little sad that I’m not going to be there for pick-up three days a week.
I’ve just called her and she couldn’t have sounded more upbeat as she sang ‘Hi mum, how are you, byeeeee!’ whilst playing the drums VERY loudly.
So if she’s none the worse for me not being there. If she’s settled well at school. If she has friends there. If she’s told me school’s great and I don’t need to keep asking so many questions (apparently, she’ll tell me when she’s bigger), why do I still feel like this?
I’m usually a pretty logical person. And even as I write this, I feel like telling myself to snap out of it. Because it doesn’t make sense, does it? If I know that, it must be stark raving obvious to you.
I know I need to give it time. But I’m impatient. And I haven’t got enough as it is. So please don’t tell me that. I can usually talk myself out of everything. But the ears aren’t listening this time.
Yours in need of a stiff drink
Bereft mother of new schooler
Do your worst Agony Aunts…